


I Don't Like it Here, It's Creepy

by TheLateNightStoryTeller



Series: Halloween Stories [2]
Category: Agents of SHIELD - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Halloween stories, Slightly future FitzSimmons fun, Spooky stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:31:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLateNightStoryTeller/pseuds/TheLateNightStoryTeller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the future (sometime after 2x06) FitzSimmons are once again on friendly terms and are driving back to the Playground when a storm forces them to stop for the night at a small (creepy) hotel which doesn't show up on their GPS.<br/>FItz thinks they should keep driving and, though Simmons thinks he is being ridiculous, he just might be right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in the future (a while after the events at the beginning of the first season) AU in which Fitz and Simmons have, for the most part, settled their issues and are getting along.

"We should pull over," Simmons suggested, scrunching her eyes to see the road through the blur of rain on the windshield. "We've still got another three hours to go and it doesn't seem like it's going to let up anytime soon."

They'd been driving back from a short visit to one of SHIELD's remaining research facilities, having agreed to meet their team back at the Playground that evening, but the rain wasn't stopping, if anything it had gotten thicker, obscuring their view and turning the road into a long, paved waterslide.

"This isn't safe," she fretted. "I can't see a thing, Fitz could you check if there are any places nearby where we can-"

"Stop?" he finished, already holding their GPS and scrolling down the list of overnight lodgings. "There's a hotel five miles from here."

"What about the one right there," she told him, pointing ahead to the ancient-looking neon sign which glowed through the flowing sheets of water that the windshield wipers were currently losing their battle against, despite their valiant efforts.

"It isn't on the list," he frowned, then shrugged. "It's... well... um... it's obviously there though, let's take a look."

Simmons pulled into the parking lot and they stopped as close as they could to the entrance before hurriedly opening their doors and dashing inside. It wasn't a far ways to go and they reached it in less than half a minute, but the pair still managed to drench themselves so that they were shivering and dripping onto the tiled floor as they approached the reception desk.

Simmons was not looking forward to going back out to retrieve their bags.

"I don't like it here," Fitz decided, his gaze darting around the room wearily, wearing an all too familiar expression of paranoia.

"Fitz-" she sighed, already tired and not in the mood to deal with his overactive imagination.

"Just _look_ at it Simmons," he insisted, holding out his arms.

Admittedly, the place was a little creepy. It was old, dimly lit with yellow light from a standing lamp. The walls were a faded red and a staircase made from dark, warped wood led into up to a door marked Level 2. Dusty paintings hung around them, each depicting a scene that seemed normal enough in its theme but was put together in a way that made it feel off. A family posed for their portrait but one of the children stood away from the rest, like a specter who didn't quite belong to them anymore. A man and a woman sat together and, though they appeared to be a couple, they did not appear at all content in each other's company. An elderly woman stared back at Simmons from her frame on the far wall, mouth set in tight line and eyes narrowed as if she were accusing them of some wrong doing.

Worst of all was the doll which sat on a wooden table under a yellowed glass dome, staring back at them with shining eyes that reminded Simmons of a corpse. It grinned invitingly, 'come play', but the twist in its smile made her think she wouldn't like the game it chose.

"It's... charming," she went with, not wanting to offend the owner, wherever they were.

"It's disturbing," Fitz muttered, inching closer to her.

"Shhh," she scolded. "Someone might hear you."

"May I help you?"

Fitz gasped and his arm snapped in front of her, a thin barrier between Simmons and the completely benign looking gentleman who had stepped out of the back room and was now watching them benevolently from behind the counter.

She shot Fitz a look and pushed down his arm.

"Hello," she greeted, smiling politely. "I know it's late but we were wondering if you had any rooms available for the night."

"We were?" Fitz asked, eyes widening in alarm and she frowned at him before turning back to the man.

"Yes we were," she said, as if she needed to remind him. "Because it's too risky to drive through the storm and it's late and this place is _lovely_."

He gave the owner a strained smile. "Yes.. lovely." He lowered his voice, turning back to her. "Can I have a word with you?"

"Of course," she chirped, mouth twitching upward. "Excuse us."

"Have you lost your mind?" he hissed when they'd retreated to entrance. "We can't stay here."

"And why not?" she questioned, arms crossed, even though she already had a hazy idea of what his answer was going to be.

"Because it's... there's weird," he fidgeted, gesturing around as he searched for the words to describe what he was seeing, "... the..um.. it's _creepy_ , " he finally settled on, as if it should be obvious. Simmons groaned as he continued. "Who knows what horrible things might happen to us if we stay here. They could... they might...," he fumbled to keep up with his imagination. "We could be sewn into one of those terrifying paintings or... um... be injected with tiny little trackers that make pigeons follow us around or-"

"Or we could sleep, safe and warm and dry in a nice bed instead freezing and soaked in the car," Simmons added reasonably. "It's been a really long day, can we please just check in, get our bags and go to bed?"

"If we check in-" he began.

She rolled her eyes. "You're being ridiculous."

"We may never check out," he finished, looking as if he were halfway to believing his own joke.

She felt the corners of her mouth twitch upward, fondly amused at his attempt to add humor to the situation, but she held back the chuckle that tickled the back of her throat because she didn't want to encourage his unwarranted suspicion of the hotel's safety. She wasn't driving another half hour through the storm just because he thought it was creepy.

" _I'm_ staying here tonight," she let him know firmly. "It isn't safe to go on driving. If you'd rather sleep in the car-"

"I can't let you stay here alone!" he hissed.

"Then stay with me," she replied, returning to the desk.

Scowling, he followed. They both knew she wasn't really going to let him sleep in the car but she was glad his sense of protectiveness had saved them an argument. (And, admittedly, the knowledge that he was looking out for her as much as she was looking out for him had sent happy tingles to the tips of her toes, softened her slightly.)

"Sorry about that," she apologized.

"Not a problem," the man assured her good naturedly. "Together or separate?"

"Do you have any rooms with two beds?" Simmons inquired, as Fitz peeked up the stairs suspiciously.

"Certainly," he told her, spinning around to examine the wall of bronze coloured keys behind him. "Let me see, room 266 is available, it's right next to the snack machine." He winked at Simmons. "Just in case you kids get the munchies."

Simmons smiled at him, he seemed pleasant, and the hotel was fine, Fitz was just being... Fitz.

"We'll take it," she said.

/-/-/

"Why is the carpet so dark?" Fitz questioned, glaring down at it as if it were plotting against him, while they walked over it, down the hall to their room.

"They probably liked the colour," Simmons answered absently, watching the numbers on the doors, key in hand.

Her head was beginning to fill with fuzz and her eyelids kept drooping shut. She was ready to go to sleep, once she'd changed and dried off, and all she wanted to do was find their room so she could do that.

"I'm sure that's what they tell the guests," he muttered, still eyeing it.

She was too exhausted to reply to that.

They found room 266 and Simmons hastily unlocked the door, throwing her bag down and searching for a towel.

Once she was dry and donning her second favourite pair of polka dotted pajamas, she emerged to find Fitz, still soaked and in his day clothes, staring at a large mirror embedded in the middle of the wall. The chipped gold paint of the frame made it look like something from a fantasy world and he knocked against it with his fist, as if expecting someone to knock back.

"I think there are... um.. it's...," he held up his hand and flipped it back and forth to show her what he was trying to say. "I think it has two sides, a mirror and... um... a window," he announced, like the knock had brought him to a conclusion.

She sighed. "I doubt that."

"It isn't hanging on the wall, it's _in_ the wall," he persisted, running his hand along the frame. "Why do you think that is?"

"It's just a mirror Fitz," she answered flatly.

"Aren't you worried there's someone, um... someone might be watching us?" he fussed, tapping it again and leaning in to take a closer look, the tip of his nose threatening to smudge it.

"I'm going to bed," she decided, walking away from mirror and slipping under the covers.

"You've brushed your teeth already?" he asked, surprised, shifting his attention to her.

"Yes," she replied, rolling over and pulling a pillow over her head to block out the light.

"Oh." Why did he sound disappointed? "I guess I should go do that then... on my own..."

"I'm sure you'll manage," she assured him, hearing his muffled footsteps shuffle past her, eyes already shut.

Ten minutes later Simmons was drifting off and he was squirming his way under his own comforter.

"Simmons?" he called.

"Hmm?" she mumbled sleepily, bracing for another conspiracy theory.

"Sweet dreams," he murmured unexpectedly, his voice sweet and warm like a fresh pastry.

Charmed, she smiled and rolled over again so that she was facing him, pulling the pillow off her head to hug it to her chest.

He was wearing his blue flannel pajamas, the ones with little hammers dotted all over them, and watching her sideways, head on his pillow. She melted a little, at the way he was staring at her, as if she were made of sunshine or monkeys, and she found her annoyance quickly slipping away.

How someone could have such a complete hold over her heart and have no idea was beyond her, but she was glad, for now, that he was oblivious, because she wasn't ready for him to know just yet that when he looked at her the way he was now she wanted to kiss him. She wasn't prepared for him to know that she'd often found herself daydreaming about what it would feel like to press her lips against his.

They'd only just gotten back to being comfortable around each other again, had only recently cleared away the fog that had obscured their ever present bond, and she didn't want to risk it returning on the winds of all the new, complex emotions and problems that would come along with such a confession.

That he had once, and hopefully still did, return her feelings didn't change the fact that they were partners, with an already established relationship, working for an organization whose members had to constantly fight for their continued existence. It didn't change the fact that they were perpetually worrying that the world would crumble around them, had a growing list of disasters they needed to prevent and that their enemies would look for any sign of weakness, any opening to use against them.

It didn't change the fact that she was scared he'd changed his mind.

So she masked the hold he had over her and smiled at him with simple, undefined affection. "You too Fitz," she answered.

He smiled back, melting her a little more, before turning out the light.

/-/-/

"Simmons," Fitz hissed, gently shaking her shoulder and pulling her out of a pleasant dream. "Simmons there's someone outside."

"What?" She opened her eyes and blinked slowly, hazily taking in her surroundings.

He'd turned the lamp on again, the light from it stung her eyes and she squinted uncomfortably as he came into focus, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, his hand still resting on her shoulder as he stared, wide eyed, towards the door.

"Ugh, Fitz!" She groaned, irritated at the awakening. She'd just fallen asleep. "We're in a hotel, of course there are people out-"

Something banged against the door and Fitz let out a yelp as she bolted upright, instinctively sliding towards him.

"Shhh," she whispered, taking a breath to calm herself. "It's probably someone who's had too much to drink... stumbling around-"

Thud!

It happened again, and then again. The doorknob clicked, as if whoever it was was turning it, trying to open the door, to come inside.

"Th-they must have the wrong room," she reasoned, winding around him and touching her feet to the carpet even though she felt the familiar sensation of static arcing under her skin and along her spine that told her she was afraid.

"Jemma no!" Fitz squeaked, grabbing her arm. "How do you know... um ...they won't...that...how do you know they're friendly? What if they're trying to get in so they can-"

"Fitz stop, we're going to be fine," she scolded before he made both of them more nervous than they already were. "Wait here."

"Like hell I'm waiting here," he protested, tiptoeing behind her.

Simmons didn't say it, but she was glad to have him close by- not that there really was anything to be worried about- it made her feel safer.

"H-hello?" she called.

Silence.

"I think you have the wrong room," she told them politely. "We're already in here."

A sudden bang caused her to squeak in surprise and Fitz let out shriek before the two of them took off, scrambling like cartoon characters back to her bed where they hid underneath the covers, sitting upright and holding onto each other as they waited for their runaway pulses to slow down.

"What do we do?" she whispered, her voice high.

"Well what we _should_ have done was keep driving," he answered, more scared than smug.

"Fitz," she groaned.

"I don't know what to do!" he exclaimed. "What do I look like, the bloody ghost whisperer?"

"It isn't a ghost," she objected, quietly disapproving. "There's no such thing as-"

Thud!

"Go away!" she shouted, letting Fitz pull her towards him and pushing her face into his chest.

"We aren't virgins so you can forget about sacrificing us!" he told it.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, pulling back to frown at him. "They don't need to know that."

"I'm just.. um... I'm just trying everything I can think of," he explained defensively.

"And that was first on your list?" she accused, managing to break out of her fear for a moment to wonder at how his mind worked.

"It's better than 'go away,'" he argued.

"No it isn't," she protested.

Slow scraping made its way down the door, dragging on, sending a chill down her spine like fingernails on a chalkboard, and the pair turned in horror towards the source of the sound, tightening their panicked embrace so that they were quivering against each other.

Something hostile was definitely out there and that something wanted in.

/-/-/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da, da DA! Stay tuned for part 2, coming out on (or possibly sometime before) Halloween.
> 
> Thanks again to notapepper for all your help :D. And reminding me how to spell Ugh haha. 
> 
> The hotel is inspired by an actual hotel I stayed at once with a friend (though the bathroom there wasn't in our room, it was a shared one) but the colour of the walls, the stairs and the creepy paintings are based off of an actual place (which really was lovely and more fun than creepy).
> 
> There is a reference to the TV show Fringe in this story. It is the tracking devices that allow pigeons to follow you around. A man named Joseph Migar has been altered so that pigeons can be trained to track him in 1x05 Power Hungry.
> 
> Also because this is fanfiction I have taken a leap and writen Simmons as returning Fitz's feelings at this point. That doesn't mean I am assuming that she will in the show (though I really hope so because <3 their love would be a beautiful rainbow)


	2. Chapter 2

They had nowhere to go, the window wasn't an option, the fall would surely break something and then they'd be left helpless, waiting for whatever it was to finish them off. 

Simmons knew there was a physiological response to situations like these, the acute stress response, in which the body prepared to either fight or to flee and, since running away was out of the question, she found herself reacting with the later. Strength buzzed through her and she resolved that anyone wishing to harm either of them was going to be met with all the resistance she could put forth. 

Squirming out of Fitz's hold on her, she left the pseudo safety of their comforter tent, along with the real safety of his arms, to search for something to use as a weapon.

"Jemma what-?" Fitz squeaked, clinging to her for a moment before letting her go. He made his way out from under the tent and skidded after her. "What are you doing?"

"We need a plan in case they get in," she told him, unplugging one of the desk lamps and wrapping the cord around it so it wouldn't catch on anything.

The thudding had stopped and in the quiet the followed she could hear their quick, panicked breaths overlapping. 

"Is it... is it gone?" he wondered, taking a step away from the entrance so that he stood beside her.

"I'm not sure," she whispered.

Limbs stiff, ready to jump back at the slightest noise, Simmons tiptoed towards the door, lamp in hand.

"What are you doing?" Fitz questioned, pulled along beside her like iron to a magnet. 

"Checking the peephole," she explained, words high and hushed. 

"Let me," he offered boldly, stepping ahead of her. "In case someone sticks a saw through."

"No one is going to stick a saw through the peephole," she insisted, rolling her eyes at him and catching his arm. "And even if they were, why does that mean you need to be the one to do it?"

"You know why Jemma." He turned to her, smiling sadly as if reminding her of a tragedy they weren't meant to talk about except in the most desperate of circumstances. There was a world just behind his eyes made of swirling light and darkness, pain and joy, achingly familiar. 

It was the same she realized with a jolt, it was that part of him he'd shown her in what seemed like another life, only moments before he'd almost ended his. It had made it through everything that had altered him, altered _them_ , a constant among countless changing variables. 

She shook her head, unsure exactly what the buzzing in her stomach meant but certain that his argument was invalid and his insistence on using it made her prickle with frustration.

"I'll do it." She moved past him before he had time to stop her and adamantly hovered her eye in front of the tiny round window. 

There was nothing, the hallway was empty. 

"What do you see?" he asked anxiously, a hand on her shoulder. "Be careful. Pull out if you see any... um... any saw-like objects."

"I will," she soothed, moving her own hand up to place over his, sorry she'd worried him but not that she'd put herself at risk rather than allow him to. "There's no one out there."

"There was," he pressed.

"Yeah," she agreed. "But whoever it was is gone now." She frowned, glimpsing something against the door, too close and too low for her to see properly but too small to be a person. "I think they might have left something." She placed the lamp on the floor and felt for the lock, turning it slowly when she found it, still scanning the hall. "I'm opening the door," she informed him, taking a breath before dropping her hand to the doorknob. 

He gulped. "...OK..."

Before she could freeze up, she turned the knob and pulled the door open. Something fell onto her feet and she let out a startled gasp, herding Fitz behind her with one arm and holding the other out in front of them defensively. 

A tiny, familiar face grinned back up at her.

"It's the doll." She giggled with relief, muscles loosening, allowing her shoulders to fall. "Nothing to be afraid of."

"What the hell," Fitz hissed, stepping around her to see. He narrowed his eyes distrustfully at it. "There's something very wrong with this place."

"I'm sure there's a completely innocent explanation for all this," she asserted. 

He raised his eyebrows, skeptical. "Do you really think... the.. um..the...," he pointed towards the doll, " _that_ was bashing itself against the door?" he asked before crossing his arms.

"Of course not, that's ridiculous," she answered dismissively, shaking her head.

"It's not... um... there isn't..." He puffed out a breath and pointed once again at the doll. "There's nothing _innocent_ about leaving that thing waiting outside someone's door."

"Oh Fitz, it's only a doll," she dismissed, bending over to scoop it up. The fabric of its dress was cool and scratchy and its porcelain head, hands and feet created a bizarre distribution of weight. 

He grimaced as if she were holding something rotten and smelly. "So was Chucky."

"Chucky isn't real," she reminded him.

He grunted at that but didn't argue.

"We should return it," Simmons declared. She found her shoes and slipped her bare feet into them, wondering if she should put on a jacket to cover up her pyjamas but quickly deciding it was unnecessary. "I'm sure the owner will be worried if he finds it missing tomorrow."

"Or relieved," Fitz muttered, earning himself another eye roll. 

"Are you coming?" she questioned when he didn't move to put on his own shoes. 

"Can't this wait until the morning?" he fretted, peering uneasily into the hallway. "When it's light outside."

"Light doesn't turn monsters to dust," she reasoned, even though she too would have rather waited for daylight to venture out into the open. 

"I never said anything about monsters," he grumbled.

"You can stay here if you'd like," she offered, though her stomach twisted at the idea of finding her way downstairs alone. 

"I'll come," he mumbled, finally pulling on his shoes. "If there is a bloodthirsty killer on the loose they can't... I won't...um... they're going to have to face both of us together." He met her gaze earnestly and she could see his courage overtaking his fear, expression determined as he stood tall. "I'm with you."

"Fitz..." she trailed off, touched by his (completely needless but incredibly sweet) sentiment, searching for a response that would accurately convey how much it was returned without actually telling him the truth, but finding none. 

He shrugged, cheeks a rosy shade of pink, and stared down at the carpet. "Let's get that thing back before it... uh... before it grows fangs... or... or something."

She nodded, feeling her own cheeks flush as her mouth curved upwards involuntarily into a quick smile, slightly flustered and glad he wasn't glancing her way to see. "Alright then."

/-/-/

Shoulder to shoulder, they crept carefully down the hall. Simmons felt like a frightened rabbit, twitchy, listening intently for any sound which could indicate danger, her heart hammering against her ribcage.  
They made it to the stairs without incident and she flinched as each step creaked, far too loudly, beneath their feet. She had the doll tucked under one arm and, with her free hand, she reached out to Fitz, finding his hand and brushing the top of her palm against his cool skin, shyly asking permission to take it.

His knuckles slid over her own and he wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing lightly but remaining silent. 

Warmth radiated from her chest, reaching her lips and curling them up into a smile, clearing away a bit of her fear. 

The reception area was dark except for a tiny light plugged into the wall, casting shadows between the orange glow. 

"We'll just put the doll back and be on our way," she decided, hoping she didn't sound as nervous as she felt. 

"Yeah," he agreed, keeping a firm hold of her hand. 

The doll's glass enclosure had fallen to the floor and was scattered into uneven shards. One crunched under Fitz's foot and the two of them jumped towards each other, startled, before they realized what it was.

"That's... odd..." Simmons commented uneasily. She placed the doll back onto the wooden table, sitting it upright so that it stared forward with unsettlingly empty eyes, wondering what to do about the mess. "How did this happen?"

"I hate being right," Fitz muttered, shaking his head as he stared down at the broken fragments.

Simmons chuckled and nudged his shoulder lightly. "No you don't," she teased, attempting to alleviate a bit of their anxiety. 

"Well I do when it's about... um... the... you know..." he gazed expectantly at her.

"I don't, actually," she admitted. Being honest was easier than taking shots in the dark. He'd find a way to convey his thoughts eventually. 

Before he could however, a low snarl sounded from the staircase and Fitz reacted automatically, pulling her around the corner, into the hallway which led to the dining room and the laundry machines, where they pressed themselves flat against the wall, gasping in quick, frightened breaths. 

"Th-that," he whispered. 

"Shh," she hushed, carefully leaning towards him so that their shoulders rubbed, their hands still linked steadfastly together. 

It was coming, quietly, slinking towards them with surprising stealth, and she gathered up her nerve, ready for a fight. 

"Jemma-" Fitz began softly.

"It'll be OK," she promised, because she had already decided long ago that she wasn't going to let anything happen to him, not ever again. 

"But if it's not," he pressed. "I... you... I mean...I-" His voice caught and she turned her head towards him, risking a brief glance away from whatever was coming.

He stared at her with bright, round eyes, desperate to communicate and, this time, she understood.

"I know," she murmured, lifting his hand to touch her lips to his fingers. She smiled bravely at him. "Me too."

He smiled back, shining gently like the flame of a candle and, for a moment, she thought about how easy it would be close the gap between them and kiss that smile, because the world was always ending wasn't it? There was always something to be afraid of, but that didn't mean they couldn't be happy, it didn't mean she needed to keep her heart (and his) under constant lock and key.

Then another snarl returned their attention to the creature stalking them and the moment ended, popping like a bubble that they'd been encased in and allowing the outside to flood around them.

Simmons tensed, adrenaline pulsing through her again, prepared to go down fighting, protecting the person whose hand she had in her grip. 

"Ready?" she asked.

He took a breath. "Together," he vowed.

"Together," she echoed.

A long shadow rose against the wall across from them and they moved closer so that her side pressed into his, breathing steadily against each other, waiting.

'If only we had an ICER,' she despaired, 'or a fire extinguisher.' 

Another pair of footsteps clapped against the wooden floor and the lights flicked on, the shadow disappearing.

"Rufus?" The hotel owner called. He let out a gasp. "No, Rufus... Bad cat! Look at this mess. What am I going to do with you?"

Fitz and Simmons glanced at each other, eyebrows raised.

A cat? That was what had been snarling at them? That was what had broken the glass? 

Side by side they rounded the corner, ears red from embarrassment. They must have looked incredibly silly hiding from such a small creature like a pair of frightened mice.

The hotel's owner was holding a sleek black cat, sighing exasperatedly as it purred in his arms. 

"Hello," he greeted, setting the cat down on the counter where it stretched itself out lazily and watched as he reach for a broom. "Did you need something?"

Simmons opened her mouth, eyes darting between him and the cat which lifted its head and growled in their direction, but found she didn't know what to say. 

"Did old Rufus here scare you?" he guessed, shaking his head disapprovingly at the animal. "Sorry about that, he's more bark than bite."

"Your doll was upstairs," she explained, still puzzling out what exactly had happened. 

Fitz was silent, looking as bewildered as she was, however, when the owner gazed down at their hands, his cheeks reddened again and he gently pulled away. Simmons let him go, a little disappointed. It had been pleasant, having his fingers wrapped around hers, their palms pushing against each other. The sensation had made her feel grounded and (when she wasn't terrified of being torn to pieces) happy. 

The man tisked, once again frowning at his pet. "He likes to play with it," he told them. "He drags it around behind him, trying to push it under people's doors. That's why I put the glass over- but I guess I'll have to bolt it down." His last words were aimed at Rufus, as if it could understand, but the cat took no notice, licking a paw before running it over the top of its head. "Thanks for bringing it back."

"Er... you're welcome..." Simmons replied, polite, but still confused because what he was telling them didn't add up. "We should be getting back to our room," she added. "I'm sure you want to go back to bed and we're leaving early tomorrow."

He smiled at them. "Sure. Goodnight, and thanks again."

"It was no problem at all," she assured him as he began sweeping the glass into a pile and she and Fitz climbed the stairs up to the rooms. 

"That was _not_ the cat," Fitz insisted when they'd reached the second floor, keeping pace beside her down the hall.

"It might have been," she answered unconvincingly. 

He snorted. "And I might be lord Voldemort."

"It isn't impossible," she objected, the corners of her mouth twitching up in amusement. 

"The cat turned the doorknob?" he questioned flatly.

"Maybe it jumped..." she suggested. The cat did seem like the simplest explanation, but Fitz was right, it was a bit a of a stretch to blame everything on it. 

They found room 266 and she took the key from her shirt pocket.

"That banging was too loud to be a cat Simmons," he pressed, arms crossed as he waited for her to slip the key into the lock. 

She bit her lip, searching for an alternative idea. "It could have been the pipes..."

"The pipes?" he repeated, eyes widening in disbelief. "You know, um... those....that kind of thinking is what... uh... what gets people chopped up into pieces in horror films."

She groaned. "This isn't a horror film Fitz."

"Of course it isn't," he retorted as she opened the door, turning defensive. "I know what's real and what isn't, it's just... it's...." He sighed, throwing his hands up and following her back into the room. 

"I know you do," she assured him, pausing to touch his arm, ensuring he was aware that she hadn't meant it that way.

He smiled fleetingly, acknowledging what she'd said, before continuing.

"What are we going to do?" he asked, worriedly pulling at his thumb.

She shrugged, unsure what there was _to _do. "Go back to sleep."__

Neither of them moved. 

"We should lock the door," Fitz suggested after a moment.

"Yeah," she agreed swiftly, stepping forward to turn the the lock, reassured slightly be the heavy click.

Fitz peered over her shoulder and nodded. "Good then." He still sounded nervous but he turned away from the door and threw off his shoes, walking wearily over to his bed.

Simmons followed and watched him crawl back under his comforter, hovering beside him and fiddling with her hair uncomfortably. 

"Would it be alright if..." She motioned nervously towards the empty spot beside him.

His cheeks became rosy again but he smiled welcomingly and lifted the blanket. "It might be safer... uh... for us to... to stick together."

Simmons smiled back gratefully. "Right."

She settled in so that they were facing each other and he threw the comforter over her, soft, heavy fabric reaching up to her chin, hiding them both beneath it. 

"Goodnight," she whispered.

"Goodnight," he replied softly. 

They continued to stare at each other.

"We're leaving the light on?" she guessed, hopeful. 

He nodded, sliding his cheek against his pillow and rustling the thin case. "Yeah."

She blew out a small sigh of relief. "OK."

It took a while but, soothed by the sound of his gentle breathing and the knowledge that he'd be there, only inches away, when she opened her eyes, Simmons eventually managed to fall asleep. 

/-/-/

They had made it through the night without getting mauled, kidnapped, turned to dust or boiled into a stew which, for Fitz, was an incredible victory.

Simmons kept insisting there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for what had happened and, though part of him was certain there was, there was another part that knew there was nothing reasonable about blaming it on the cat or the pipes. 

Something malevolent had happened that night, whether it was a prank or a ghost (or a bloodthirsty murderer) he wasn't sure but he was certain that they were never, _ever _staying at a hotel again unless it was on their map and devoid of creepy paintings and horrifying dolls.__

"Is that everything?" she asked, checking through their bags once more.

"If there's anything left they can have it," Fitz replied, dancing on his toes, ready to leave.

She shook her head at him as she tossed the bags into the back seat, shutting the door behind them. 

"Well we checked out didn't we?" she teased watching him over the roof of the car, a glint in her eyes.

"I said might Simmons," he defended, however couldn't help but grin back, amused. "I said we _might_ never check out."

She chuckled softly before placing her hands on the car and leaning her chin on them, eyes moving across his face, as if she were examining him, trying to decide something. 

"What?" he asked, puzzled by the way she was staring at him, suddenly serious.

Her lips pressed together and she didn't answer. Instead she circled the car, striding purposefully towards him, stopping incredibly close, so close that her scent encircled him and he could see the flecks of light and dark in her eyes. 

Then, before he knew what was happening, she kissed him, quickly, their lips touching for only a few seconds, but long enough that tiny wings began fluttering in his stomach and his face became flushed, mouth tingling amazingly. 

She pulled away, sunset pink, and watched him, visibly growing more and more uncertain, the pink darkening to red, as he stared back, shocked into silence.

"Sorry," she finally mumbled, averting her gaze. "I thought... never mind, that was impulsive and inappropriate... I shouldn't have assumed-"

"Jemma." Though he spoke quietly she stopped mid sentence as if he'd shouted and her chin rose, eyes meeting his, hopeful. He smiled at her. "Can... can we do that again?"

She beamed at him, glowing brighter than the sunlight shining down on them, and nodded. "I'd like that."

This time he kissed her, hesitantly leaning forwards, heart beating forcefully against his ribcage as their lips met, and warmth poured pleasantly down into his chest, sinking into his stomach and pulsing in all directions so that every part of him hummed wonderfully. 

Her phone buzzed, rudely interrupting, and they grudgingly pulled away from each other so she could answer it. She couldn't seem to stop smiling at him, eyes shining and giddy, her cheeks once again painted pink as she lifted it to her ear. She was adorable.

"He-hello," she greeted, pitch higher than it usually would have been. "Yes... no, everything's fine." Their eyes met and her grin widened. "It's fantastic actually. No... no, well they did have a lot of... I wouldn't call them 'doodads' but it was interesting. I'll tell you about it when we get back...." There was a long pause as she listened to them tell her something. "Alright.... we will, see you soon." She hung up. "That was Skye," she told him needlessly (no one else would refer to laboratory equipment as 'doodads'). "We have a mission... apparently there's a new gifted using their powers to rob banks-" her voice chirped enthusiastically, "-by walking through walls."

He tilted his head, intrigued. "Like Shadowcat?" 

She grinned excitedly. "We'll soon find out won't we? I wonder how they're doing it..."

"Well... a lot of umm... there's a lot of empty space even in solid objects...," he put forth. "So if you could.... um...." he held out his hands, shaking them rapidly. "um... if you..." he repeated the motion, hoping she understood. "... you might be able to slip between it."

"If you could vibrate yourself rapidly enough, you could slip through the empty space you mean?" she guessed.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, nodding happily. "That's it."

She seemed pleased she'd gotten it right. Her eyes sparkled with glee and she laughed delightedly, sunbeams lighting her hair. He couldn't believe how beautiful she was, that she'd kissed him, that she'd wanted to do it _again_. 

"So... er... do you want to talk about.... what just happened?" he asked, wondering why he was so nervous. _She_ was the one who'd kissed _him_ after all. Surely she wanted... something. Something that involved more kisses.

"Yes," she answered, eyes continuing to sparkle.

"Can I kiss you again?"

"You don't need to ask every time Fitz," she laughed. "There's nothing to be frightened of... well... actually there are a lot of things to be frightened of but... not... me... not us." She pushed as strand of hair behind her ear, as nervous as he was, growing serious. "I know it's scary- especially for us- because of all we've been through, and because of everything that we _are_ going through, with Hydra and rebuilding SHIELD... but I don't want to live my life too afraid to be happy." She met his gaze determinedly. "I want us to be together... if that's what you want too."

"It is," he told her, her words seeping into him, filling him with joy. 

"Good." She scrunched her nose, giggling. "I thought you were going to kiss me," she reminded him. 

He laughed. "You're an impatient one aren't you?"

"I've waited a very long time actually," she chuckled. 

He smiled softly, wondering why he wasn't more frightened at how complete her hold over his heart was, at how much he loved this amazing person whose life was constantly in danger. He decided it was because he too didn't want to live his life too afraid to be happy and besides, whatever they were to each other, his heart had always been hers. Fear couldn't change that.

"Yeah, me too, but it was worth it," he told her, moving forward to kiss her once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tada, I know it's not Halloween but (as one of the people at work told me) it's still Halloween in my heart. Haha
> 
> The Fringe reference is the gifted who robs banks by walking through walls. This occurs in not one, but two, episodes of Fringe. One on our side and one in the other universe (different people doing it). First in 1x10 and next in 3x05. Also in the show they don't have powers, they use a machine, but the concept Fitz explains is the same one that explains both occurences in the show. (I have no idea how realistic it is but there certainly is a lot of empty space in matter).
> 
> I put a Harry Potter reference in this one because the FitzSimmons kiss was inspired by the first Harry/Ginny kiss of the book series.
> 
> Thanks always to Notapepper for all your help. Without you I'd still be writing swam instead of swum haha.


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